


If I Should Die Before I Wake...

by EyeInTheDark



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Between Seasons/Series, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Hallucinations, Head Injury, Hurt Daryl, I'm Bad At Summaries, Mild Language, Non-Linear Narrative
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-11
Updated: 2015-05-16
Packaged: 2018-03-30 02:13:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3919018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EyeInTheDark/pseuds/EyeInTheDark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daryl suffers a severe head injury after a supply run gone horribly wrong...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own The Walking Dead or any of it's amazing characters. All I own here is the plot :)

* * *

 

"Will he be alright?"

Rick's voice sounded foreign, even to his own ears; strained and full of concern, raspy from all the shouting he'd done less than an hour or so earlier.

"I don't know," Hershel frowned, eyeing his patient with a look of deep concern, his disdain for the situation clear in his body language.

Rick sighed heavily, running a shaky hand over his whiskers roughly.

"Why would anybody do something like that?" Glenn asked no one in particular, seemingly in some sort of mild state of shock. "Who would rig a place like that? _Why_...?"

"I don't know..." Rick muttered, irritated even though he knew it wasn't Glenn's fault. His nerves were shot and he was on edge because of it, and Glenn's rambling wasn't helping the situation.

"Could'a been the Governor," Michonne pointed out with a contemptuous frown. "He's crazy enough t' do somethin' like that."

Rick nodded slightly, finding it difficult to focus on anything but the injured man lying motionless on the table a few feet away from him.

"Could'a been..." he mumbled in vague agreement, eyes trained on Daryl's prone figure as Hershel carefully wrapped a bandage around the hunter's head.

* * *

The explosion had quite literally rocked their world, sending their small run group reeling backward with the force of the blast, splinters of wood and debris flying skyward before raining back down on them as the building they had planned on raiding was engulfed in flames.

None of them had noticed the tripwire until it was too late. Daryl had taken point like always, and consequently, the brunt of the blast. His head had literally bounced off of a rock do to how hard he'd been flung back, landing on the unforgiving ground hard enough to break bones, the sickening thud that surely sounded as his body hit the dirt drowned out by the ringing in each of the group members' ears.

Rick had been the first to recover from the initial shock of the explosion and had rushed to the other man's side, fearing the worst at the sight of blood pooling beneath Daryl's head and running from his mouth and nose.

Daryl lay motionless and unresponsive as Rick screamed in his face, trying desperately to find a pulse and coming up empty.

Maggie had shoved him asside a moment later, resting her head against Daryl's seemingly unmoving chest and -after what seemed like an eternity- confirmed that there was a heartbeat and that he was breathing, that he _was,_ indeed, alive.

Daryl's eyes had fluttered open then, a dazed and confused look crossing his features as Rick continued to shout orders over the roar of the fire.

The pain had registered relatively quickly after that and his face had crumpled, a small, distressed whine escaping his throat as he choked on the blood trickling from his lips. When he tried to speak, his words were slurred, his eyes rolling about in his head as Rick tried to get him to focus on his face.

Daryl had tried, Rick knew that, but he just couldn't seem to control the movement of his eyes as they rolled lazily about in their orbits. They had begged him to stay with them, to stay awake after that, but the hunter had slipped into unconsciousness anyway, too weak and obviously in too much pain to care what they wanted from him.

Everything had moved relatively quickly after that. Maggie had bandaged Daryl's head as best she could, relaying to the others that he had a concussion while Michonne took care of the first five geeks approaching the scene, drawn in by the noise of the blast.

Glenn and Rick had lifted Daryl as one, carrying him in tandem to the SUV a few moments later, getting him situated on the back seat as quickly as possible before diving in and taking off.

Rick had driven like the devil himself was nipping at his heels, glancing over his shoulder now and then at the pale figure lying limply in the back, Michonne and Maggie kneeling on the floor between the front and back seats to keep their eyes on him, help him in any way they possibly could.

It had seemed like the longest drive back to the prison ever.

Hershel had confirmed Maggie's diagnosis of a concussion, adding the word "severe" in front of it. The old vet hadn't said much after that, simply asking Carol to hold Daryl's head still while he checked the unconscious man's mouth, searching for the sorce of all the blood leaking from the corners of his pale lips.

"He must've bitten his tongue," Hershel had stated calmly to the others, frowning as he worked.

"Will he be alright?" Rick asked for the umpteenth time since they carried Daryl in, voice strained.

He had to know.

Daryl had to be alright. He just _had_ to be!

"I don't know," Hershel responded simply, sadness thick in his voice as he repeated the same response he'd already given a dozen times.

With those three simple words, Rick felt as if the entire world had suddenly come crashing down on top of him, his heart hammering in his chest as the room fell eerily silent.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why I tagged this as "slow to update". I can't stop myself right now!

Daryl took a deep breath, steadying the crossbow in his grip and lining the crosshairs up on his target. The buck was a little over 30 yards away, grazing contentedly, unaware of his presence.

Breathing out in a long, quiet sigh, he pulled the trigger, a bolt flying forward with the familiar _whoosh_ of air whistling through the fletching and the harsh _thunk_ of the bow string snapping forward with the release.

The bolt struck the deer broadside, in the spot just behind the left front shoulder, embedded deep as the buck staggered, dropping to the forest floor a moment later with a dull thud.

Daryl smiled proudly to himself, lowering his weapon and approaching the deer, kicking at it's legs lightly when he drew up next to it to make sure it was indeed dead.

He had learned that lesson the hard way, and he smiled slightly to himself at the memory of it.

Merle had taken him out into the woods with him and they had hunted all day. Daryl had got his first deer just before it was time to go in, and he had been so excited, he'd forgotten to make sure it was dead. Merle had warned him, but his excitement had made him careless.

He'd received a good hard kick to the ribs and another in the stomach for his troubles as the deer struggled to get away before Merle stepped in and finished it off for him, laughing when Daryl doubled over gagging from the blows.

Daryl could still faintly hear his brother's hysterical laughter and he frowned, unhappy that his discomfort had tickled his brother's funny bone so much.

Shaking his head slightly, the hunter knelt down beside his kill, drawing his knife and getting started on the field dressing.

Once he was finished gutting the deer and had knotted a rope around it's legs, he began dragging it back in the direction from which he had come.

 _You shouldn't be out here alone..._ a voice seemed to whisper through the trees, and he whirled around to see whom it belonged to.

Nothing.

Empty space.

No one was there.

Shrugging his shoulders, Daryl tried to ignore the feeling that something was wrong. It was a niggling feeling at the back of his mind, one he just couldn't seem to shake. He tried to convince himself that there was nothing there. Nothing was wrong, he was just tired.

"Jus' the wind," he scoffed to himself. But even as the words left his lips he couldn't help but feel a bit unnerved when that strange voice spoke up again from somewhere to his right.

_You should go back..._

Shouldering the crossbow, Daryl tightened his grip on the rope he had knotted around the deer's ankles, clutching at it like a lifeline as he started walking again, trying to ignore the whispering now emanating from the treetops.

_You're going the wrong way..._

"I am not!" he suddenly blurted out, irritated by the voice, and suddenly feeling a bit frightened.

When had he started listening to disembodied voices? And better yet, _why_ was he _talking_ to disembodied voices?

With his senses on high alert, Daryl pressed on, trying to ignore the voice calling after him, biting his lip when he opened his mouth to throw another angry retort its way.

There was nothing there. There was _nobody_ there. He was just tired, maybe a little dehydrated, that was all.

Still feeling uneasy, Daryl pressed on, hoping the creepy voice would just leave him alone.

* * *

The last thing Daryl remembered before blackness consumed his world was a flash of bright light followed by a deafening boom, an invisible force sending him flying backward through the air, his feet taken right out from under him before he was slammed roughly against the hard packed earth. Darkness had blanketed him a moment later, the stabbing pain that had shot through the back of his skull suddenly forgotten.

He remembered opening his eyes once, unable to focus on the blurry faces hovering over him. Rick -at least he thought it was Rick- was screaming in his face. It made his head hurt.

"Can you hear me?" he thought he heard someone ask. Was that Maggie?

 _Yes,_ he wanted to say, _I can hear you. I'm not deaf..._

But he couldn't seem to find his voice. The painless bliss of unconsciousness was calling to him again, and he had willingly given in to it, unable to hear Rick and Maggie's pleas for him to stay awake.

* * *

When he looked up, the woods seemed denser than he remembered, the deer he was dragging somehow growing heavier the farther he pressed on. He had been deep in thought, somehow managing to veer off the path he had followed into the woods.

What the hell was wrong with him?

Pushing through the undergrowth, Daryl huffed as the deer carcass got caught on a root, dragging him to a halt. He yanked at the carcass, breaking it free from the root and continuing on, muttering to himself. His head was beginning to hurt, a dull throbbing behind his eyes that just wouldn't seem to let up.

"Aw, c'mon, man," a familiar voice drawled from somewhere off to his right, and Daryl froze, his headache and the deer completely forgotten. "Carry the damn thing!"

It couldn't be.

Daryl stared in wide-eyed shock as the voice made itself known, stepping out from behind a tree in the form of a man.

"Well what's'a matter Darylina? Ain't ya' glad t' see ol' Merle?"


	3. Chapter 3

"Any change?" Beth asked softly as she sat down beside Carol, rocking Judith gently.

The older woman sighed, shaking her head sadly. "Nothing. He hasn't even twitched."

Beth nodded slightly, a look of determination eteched across her brow. "We gotta stay positive."

Carol looked doubtful, but nodded anyway.

"He's gonna be okay," Beth continued, her eyes fixed on Daryl's unconscious form, a thin sheet covering him. "He's gonna wake up any minute and cuss us out for leavin' him layin' here like this. And he'll be pissed when Daddy tells him he'll have t' rest."

Carol smiled slightly, comforted by the thought, but still unconvinced. Head injuries where, and always would be, a serious thing. Especially now that the world had gone to shit. Daryl's condition was precarious to begin with, but now, seeing as he had yet to regain any semblance of consciousness, it was even more unstable. There was a good chance that Daryl wouldn't wake up. Ever. And that thought was enough to shatter her completely.

"He's gonna be okay," Carol echoed Beth's words, trying to convince herself and watching as the girl's face brightened slightly with renewed hope. "He's gonna be okay."

* * *

Rick went straight to the shower room the moment he had a chance, washing away every trace of blood, _Daryl's blood,_ from his skin.

The shower did nothing to ease the tension thrumming through his body. His head ached and his muscles burned.

He made his way through the prison, running a hand through his wet, unruly hair, sighing in frustration as he entered his cell. Carol had insisted he get some sleep. But how could he sleep knowing that Daryl was lying on a table in the common room, unconscious and possibly dying?

Sitting down on the edge of his bunk, Rick hung his head in shame. Maybe if he had been paying a little more attention, he would have noticed the tripwires. Maybe if he had taken point instead of it always being Daryl, the hunter wouldn't be in the condition he was in. Michonne thought it might have been the Governor's handy work. Maybe if he would have killed the bastard when he had the chance, none of it would have happened.

There were a lot of if's and maybe's, but every way Rick looked at it, he came up with the same, crushing conclusion: It was his fault, and he knew it. The others could think of it as an accident or put all the blame on the Governor if they wanted, but he knew.

It was his fault, pure and simple.

"I'm so sorry, Daryl..." Rick whispered into thin air, the tears he hadn't shed earlier do to the shock that had gripped him suddenly rushing to the surface. "I'm so sorry..."

Lying back on his bunk, Rick buried his face in his hands, sobbing.

* * *

The sky had been so blue and clear. After the explosion, it had turned dark, clouded by thick, black smoke.

Rick was screaming, but he could hardly hear his own voice, the ringing in his ears was like a tidal wave rushing over his head. His hands were coated in blood, sticky and warm, slipping against the grass as he hovered over Daryl's prone body.

He had never felt so helpless, not even on the day he had lost Lori. He couldn't find a pulse, his hands were trembling too much. Maggie pushed him away, threw her head down against Daryl's chest.

It seemed like it took forever for her to find a heartbeat, but she said it was there.

Then, the next moment, Daryl had opened his eyes, his gaze wandering and far away. Rick knew at the first glance that Daryl had a concussion. His left pupil was blown wide, a thin ring of blue just visible around the edges of black while the right pupil remained at a normal size.

"It's alright," Rick had soothed as Daryl's face crumpled in pain, a distressed whine bubbling up from somewhere deep in his chest. "You're gonna be alright. We're right here. We got you."

"Daryl, can you hear me?" Maggie stepped in, gently lifting his head and probing for the source of all the blood pooling beneath it.

Rick's heart dropped to the pit of his stomach as Daryl's eyes slid shut again, his body going limp a second later.

"Glenn! Get over here!" he shouted, desperation thick in his tone.

"There's tripwires everywhere!" Glenn babbled, shocked to the core. "Somebody rigged this place from top to bottom!"

"We need t' go!" Michonne hollered over the crackling of the blaze in the backdrop...

* * *

Rick woke with a start, his pillow wet from tears. Sighing, he rolled off of the bunk, trudging dejectedly out of his cell and heading straight for the commom area. It was still early, not even dawn, but he knew he wouldn't be getting anymore sleep. Not until Daryl was out of the woods at least.


	4. Chapter 4

"M-Merle...?" Daryl whispered, dumbfounded. He shook his head in disbelief. This couldn't be right. He had to be dreaming. "Y-you're dead..."

"You been out in the sun too long, baby brother," Merle snorted, leaning against a tree as he folded his arms across his chest.

It was then that Daryl noticed the blood stain on the front of Merle's shirt, the hole through his chest, and he backed away, terrified.

"You're dead. You ain't here. I'm just seein' things."

"I tol' ya' before, Darylina! I'm as real as that damned chupacabra of yours!"

"You ain't here! You ain't real!" Daryl shouted at his brother's ghost, covering his ears. "I'm dreamin'! You _ain't_ here!!"

"Like hell you are!" Merle shouted in his face, suddenly right in front of him.

Daryl stumbled backward, tripping over a root and landing on his ass hard enough to rattle his teeth. His head pounded, eyes watering as the pain ratcheted up another notch. He shook his head, refusing to listen to his brother as he towered above him, laughing mockingly at him.

"C'mon, Darylina! Quit your cryin'!"

"Jus' shut the hell up Merle!!"

Silence.

Cracking his eyes open, Daryl looked around himself slowly, fearing what he might find.

But there was nothing there. Just trees, and grass, and weeds.

Nothing.

Merle was gone.

Cradling his head, Daryl moaned softly to himself, hunching over and rocking himself slightly. What was wrong with him?

"I must be losin' my mind..." he murmured after a few beats, shivering when the wind suddenly picked up.

_I told you you were going the wrong way..._

Gasping in fright as the eerie whispering started up again, Daryl jumped to his feet, staggering slightly as the world spun before his eyes.

_Go back...Go back..._

Daryl broke into a run, the deer completely forgotten. He had to get out of the woods before he lost it completely.

He didn't stop until his lungs began to burn and his head felt as if it were about to explode, collapsing on the ground in a heap, panting hard. He listened intently, but didn't hear the voice.

Thank God.

Curling up in a ball, Daryl wrapped his arms around himself, trying to pull himself together enough to continue the journey out of the forest.

* * *

Thunder rumbled in the distance, a promising sign of rain as Hershel came in for his second round since daylight.

"He's running a bit of a fever," the old vet frowned, resting a cool hand on Daryl's forehead.

"Infection?" Maggie asked, furrowing her brow as she pressed a hand against Daryl's flushed cheek as well.

"I'm guessing it's probably from the shock," Hershel offered, tugging the sheet back up over Daryl's bruised chest. "It's just a sign that his body's fighting."

"I didn't think he'd make it," Maggie confessed, lowering her head as if she were ashamed. "He hit his head _so hard._ There was so much _blood_..."

"I know," Hershel wrapped an arm around his daughter, giving her a gentle squeeze. "But we have to stay positive. Daryl's tough. If anybody could pull through something like this, it'd be him."

Maggie nodded, hugging her father back. "You sound like Beth. And you're right."

Hershel smiled softly, taking a seat near his patient and picking up his worn old bible, flipping it open. "Go get some rest now."

* * *

When Daryl opened his eyes, darkness had fallen over the woods. Groaning to himself, he slowly got to his feet, grimmacing as his ribs twinged in protest.

His head was pounding, and his chest hurt when he took a deep breath.

Carefully, he lifted his shirt, surprised to find bruises littering his entire torso. What the hell?

Dropping his shirt back into place, Daryl looked around, gripping his crossbow until his knuckles turned white. The woods seemed to be closing in around him, he could no longer see the path he had been following before.

He turned around several times, peering into the darkness in search of any sign of the trail. There were none.

_I told you to go back..._

"Shut up," he muttered, rubbing at his temple. The voice was beginning to grow more annoying than frightening, and it wasn't helping his headache. "Jus' shut up an' leave me be..."

"You should listen to them."

A shadowy figure shambled from behind a large oak tree 15 yards or so away from him, much like Merle's ghost had. Daryl froze, seemingly rooted to the spot, the icy fingers of terror gripping his heart and squeezing it painfully tight at the sight of the man staggering toward him.

A gore covered walker stumbled toward him, reaching out to him as it spoke.

"You shouldn't be here, Daryl," the walker's voice came out a throttled groan, a river of blood running from it's mouth.

Daryl choked, unable to speak as tears burned his eyes and his fingers went lax, the crossbow clattering to the ground as the approaching figure slowly advanced on him, backing him up against a tree, bloodstained teeth glinting in the moonlight sifting through the tree limbs above them.

For a moment, Daryl was eight years old again, cowering in a corner, his daddy threatening him with his belt in one hand and a bottle of beer in the other.

But this wasn't his daddy at all.

The walker snarled, cold, rotting fingers latching on to his hair, yanking it painfully.

Just before Rick sank his bloodied teeth into Daryl's throat, a searing pain shot through the back of his skull and his world faded to black...


	5. Chapter 5

There had been a period of time when Rick Grimes wouldn't have turned his back on Daryl Dixon if his life depended upon it. Sometimes he wondered how things would have turned out between him and the youngest Dixon if he _hadn't_ cuffed Merle to that rooftop in Atlanta.

The change after losing Merle had been astounding, especially to those who had been around Daryl for a longer period of time than he himself had been.

At first, Rick had assumed that he and Daryl would never get along. That sooner or later, he would have to banish the hot-tempered redneck from their little group, maybe even be forced to kill him. But after Merle was out of the picture, Daryl had completely changed.

Now, -however many months had passed since that first 'meeting-of-the-minds' with one Daryl Dixon and his deadly string of squirrels- Rick could say with confidence that the hunter was his nearest and dearest friend. He had called Shane brother once, but Daryl had easily filled that void after Shane was gone. Daryl had become so much more than just a friend somewhere along the road. He had become Rick's brother, and Rick was proud of that.

The former lawman stayed near Daryl throughout the day, constantly coming in to check on his injured friend and fuss over him. Thunder boomed outside, vibrating the building and reverberating off the prison walls, reminding him far too much of the explosion that had nearly cost them his brother's life.

He had taken up Carol's seat beside Daryl's motionless form, bathing the hunter's face and neck with a cool washcloth, trying to bring down the fever raging through his broken body. Hershel said it was most likely caused by shock, but it still made him worry.

Rick watched the steady rise and fall of Daryl's chest intently, so lost in his own thoughts that he almost missed the slight twitch of Daryl's fingers beneath his left hand.

"Daryl?" he breathed, jumping up and hovering over the other man in astonishment, watching as the hunter's brow furrowed slightly. "Daryl? Can you hear me?"

The archer didn't respond, a soft moan escaping his lips before his body stilled completely again. Rick watched him for a moment longer, holding his breath in the hope that Daryl would just wake up.

Five minutes passed without another sign, and Rick finally gave up, leaving Daryl's side long enough to go find Hershel.

* * *

He was cold. His head hurt. His back ached.

Turning over, Daryl took in a shaky breath, looking all around himself, dreading what he might find.

Thankfully, the walker who had stolen Rick's face and voice was gone.

Gingerly, he ran his fingers over his throat and neck, making certain that there were no bites. Finding himself completely intact, Daryl got to his feet, swaying slightly, quickly leaning against a tree for support.

Damn, he was weak. But why?

He couldn't remember why. The thought was somewhat unnerving, but he quickly brushed it aside.

He remembered dropping his crossbow then, and he quickly searched the tall grass for the weapon, coming up empty after ten minutes of desperate searching.

"Shit," he muttered to himself, feeling naked without the weight of the weapon in his hands.

Squinting into the darkness, Daryl tried to remember which direction he had entered the woods from, which direction the prison was located. But the harder he thought about it, the harder it seemed to remember. He couldn't even remember leaving the prison to go hunting. It was as if he had just closed his eyes and opened them to find himself magically out in the middle of the woods alone, weaponless save for the buck knife still sheathed securely at his hip.

"You ain't lost," he grumbled, refusing to believe the little voice in his head insisting that he was. "You're jus' confused."

He weighed his options carefully, looking first left, then right, trying to make a decision and not liking either of the choices given.

Sighing, he plopped himself down on a log, resting his chin in his hands, his elbows propped against his knees. The voices he had heard had said to go back. But which way was back? Would going back take him home? Should he even be listening to voices he knew were nothing but his suddenly overactive imagination? The memory of Rick, layered in a coat of gore and blood was enough to make him shudder. He had been so sure it was real.

Getting up, he started walking, stumbling in the darkness, praying that he was going in the right direction.

He didn't see the drop off he was heading toward until it was too late.

Plummeting head over heels over the cliff-like embankment, Daryl's last coherent thought was that he should have listened to the voices, even if it didn't seem logical, when he had the chance.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was extremely hard to write. *runs off to cry alone*

"Daryl? Son, can you hear me?" Hershel spoke softly, gently patting the younger man's cheek.

Daryl moaned, shifting slightly, but made no sign of fully regaining consciousness.

"Anything?" Rick asked hopefully, peering over Hershel's shoulder.

"Not just yet," the old vet sighed, his crutches clacking against the concrete floor as he exited the room with a small shake of his head.

"C'mon, brother," Rick whispered, leaning in close to Daryl's face, gently brushing his shaggy fringe back from his forehead. "C'mon back to us. Fight."

* * *

"Look baby! Can you tell Mama what this is?"

"Kitty!" Daryl squealed, chubby little hands reaching out for the little ball of fluff in her arms.

"That's right," Claire Dixon smiled, allowing her youngest to hold the tiny creature. "Be gentle, sweetheart. It's very tiny."

"Ow?" Daryl asked innocently. His vocabulary was still a bit limited, but he was learning fast.

"Not quite, sweety," Claire chuckled, helping him to hold the kitten correctly. "See how little he is? His bones are fragile. You don't want to hurt him do you?"

Daryl shook his head vigorously, resting the kitten against his chest like his mother had.

"Fagul," he tried to mimic his mother's words, failing miserably. "Fragul."

"Fraaa-giiile," Claire repeated slowly, drawing out the vowels. "Fraaa-giiile, sweety. Try again."

"Fraaa-giiile," Daryl echoed, giggling.

His attention span was short, and before she knew it, he was focusing on the kitten again, stroking it gently and giggling when it mewed pitifully.

"Mine?" Daryl looked up suddenly, blue eyes wide and pleading. The sight of him nearly broke her heart. She knew what he meant. _Can I keep it?_

"No, baby, you can't keep him..."

Daryl's gaze fell, a dejected pout settling on his chubby face.

Claire sighed sadly, hating herself for being the one to make that look cross her baby's face. But she knew her husband far too well to dare. She would be putting herself, Daryl _and_ the little creature in danger if she allowed him to keep it.

"I'm sorry, baby," she cooed, taking Daryl and the kitten into her lap. "Daddy wouldn't like it."

The little boy nodded soberly. Even at his young age he understood that statement plainly. It was sad really.

"Why don't we take it over to Mrs. Brown's? I think she'd like the company. Her kitty ran away, remember?"

Daryl's face lit up a little at the prospect of going to Mrs. Brown's. "Cookie?"

Claire laughed. "I'm sure she'll have cookies, sweety. But remember to mind your manners."

Daryl nodded quickly, holding the kitten protectively against his little chest as he hopped off his mother's lap, toddling off down the driverway ahead of her.

"Wait for Mama, Daryl," Claire called after him, reaching for his hand when she caught up.

The pair walked hand in hand down the road to their nearest neighbor, and Mrs. Brown welcomed them as always, offering Daryl a freshly baked cookie almost before they were through the front door.

Needless to say, the kitten had found itself a new home, and Daryl had been invited to come visit it whenever he liked.

* * *

It took him a moment to realize that he had been crying. Everything hurt. His mind, his body, his heart... _Everything._

Daryl looked up into the early dawn sky, the outline of leaves just visible in the faint light. Tears blurred his vision, and he quickly bowed his head again, groaning in pain and frustration. Crying wasn't getting him anywhere, and it was only making his head hurt worse.

"Mama..." he whimpered, feeling stupid and childish for letting his own memories get to him so much. He thought he had pushed all those memories away. Locked them up so tightly that they could never bother him again. But just uttering such a simple word made him cry all the harder.

Feeling vulnerable, Daryl curled in on himself, wrapping his arms around his legs and drawing his knees up to his bruised chest, sobbing harder than he had in years.

The woods were closing in on him again. He felt alone, frightened, and more than anything, hopeless. He would never find his way out. He should have listened to the voices when he had the chance. But just like always, he had to be stubborn.

"Look at you."

Daryl's head shot up, wary and on edge in a heartbeat. His hand slowly edged toward his knife, fingers wrapping around the handle tightly.

"Merle had so much to tell us about you, how he'd made such a big man out of you...I see what a liar he was. Maybe he didn't know. Either way, I can see the truth now."

A shadowy figure loomed menacingly in front of him, tall and frightening in the low morning light. Daryl scooted himself back, his spine meeting a tree trunk almost instantaneously. He was cornered.

"You're pathetic. Weak. Nothing but a waste of space."

The Governor stood before him, towering over him, a wicked smile curving his lips upward.

Before Daryl could make any kind of protest, put up a fight, the man was upon him, grabbing him roughly by the hair and dragging him to his feet.


	7. Chapter 7

"Mama..."

It was a murmur of breath, barely audible and almost not there. Beth got up, hovering over Daryl and listening intently. Taking his hand in hers, she felt the slight twitch of his fingers, watched with growing hope as his face scrunched up, eyes moving rapidly behind his closed lids.

"Daryl?" she whispered hopefully, brushing her hand against his cheek lightly. "Daryl, are you there? Can you hear me?"

"St-op..." Daryl hiccupped weakly, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Daddy!" Beth cried, hoping her father would hear her so she wouldn't have to leave.

She waited a few moments, relieved when she finally heard the familiar clacking of Hershel's crutches coming their way.

"What is it, Bethy?"

"He's talkin' in his sleep," Beth said in a rush. "I think he's wakin' up!"

"Has he made any other signs of comin' around?" Hershel asked, eyeing Daryl carefully.

"His fingers keep twitchin' now and then, and it looks like his eyes are movin' a lot."

"Go get Rick and Carol, Bethy," Hershel demanded, sitting down beside his patient to keep watch. "I just hope this ain't a false alarm..."

* * *

Daryl saw the world before his eyes turn from vivid green to technicolored smears of pink, blue and every other color of the rainbow. The Governor slammed him up against the nearest tree, knocking the air from his lungs from the force.

"Your brother would be so ashamed. I'll bet he'd be glad I blew him away!" the Governor bellowed, yanking Daryl back by his hair, throwing a vicious punch to the younger man's stomach and laughing when the archer doubled over gagging.

"You're pathetic Dixon!"

Daryl coughed, tasting blood. The Governor wouldn't let up. A particularly hard punch to the face sent him sprawling, curling up to protect himself when the larger man began kicking him mercilessly.

It was worse than any beating he had ever received from his daddy. Worse than any of the bar fights Merle had started and been too drunk to finish. Worse than anything Daryl could ever remember being through to be honest.

"Give it up, Dixon! You'll never make it back! Look at you! Lyin' in the dirt like the worthless piece of trash you truly are!"

Gasping through the pain squeezing at his battered lungs, he nearly blacked out as he rolled onto his side, crying out as fire seemed to slither down his spine.

"Daryl?" a soft, childlike voice broke through the fog. It was faint, almost inaudible above the Governor's ranting, but he heard it clearly.

Cracking his eyes open and squinting, his vision blurry, Daryl nearly gasped at the sight that greeted him.

"Don't give up now, Daryl...You're so close. Don't listen to him! He's a big fat liar!"

He choked, nearly gagging on the blood running down his throat, unable to speak.

"All you have to do is wake up, Daryl," Sophia smiled, her face shining.

"She's right," a feminine voice spoke up a moment later, causing him to gasp slightly as he peered up into the glowing face of Andrea. "He can't hurt you anymore if you don't listen to him."

"We know you, Daryl," Lori chimed in, appearing alongside Andrea and Sophia a second later. "You can do this. Don't listen to him."

"You got this, man!" T-Dog grinned as Dale, Jim and Jacqui nodded their approval.

"You're nothin' but a burden to the others!" The Governor shouted over them, angry. "You're worthless! A liability!"

"I never liked you much, Dixon, but I got faith in ya', man," Shane smirked, leaning against a tree. "Ignore 'im."

They were all there. Even the ones he didn't know very well, some he hadn't even gotten to meet. Jimmy, Patricia, and someone he could only assume was Otis appeared next, moving to stand with the others, smiling at him brightly, there eyes brimming with complete faith and trust.

"We _all_ have faith in you, sonny," old Mrs. Brown pushed to the front of the glowing crowd gathered around him, smiling broadly. "You're such a sweet boy."

"C'mon baby brother! Show us what you're made of!" Merle laughed good-naturedly from beside Shane. "He ain't nothin' compared t' you, little brother."

Stunned, Daryl couldn't find his voice. The Governor was fading away as each of the others appeared before him, encouraging him. Daryl could do nothing but lay there and stare at them in awed shock.

"You're so strong. You're so good. I know you can do this, baby, I know you can! My sweet boy..." a familiar voice spoke up from somewhere towards the back of the crowd.

Shane and Merle stepped aside, revealing the speaker.

"M-Mama...?" Daryl whispered as the glowing figure of Claire Dixon knelt down beside him, cradling him in her arms like she had when he was little.

The Governor was gone. Completely forgotten.

"Just close your eyes, baby..." Claire whispered, rocking him gently. "And when you open them, you'll be with the ones you love. You'll be safe. It's all over. You've been through so much..."

His mother's voice and the soothing rocking motion calmed him, and he slowly began to drift, allowing his eyes to droop closed.

The world around him faded, the glowing figures of his friends and family slowly disappearing along with it.

"I love you so much...my sweet baby boy..." Claire cooed, the brush of her fingers over his cheek as gentle as a breeze.

Before he knew what was happening, Daryl slipped into the black oblivion of sleep once again, his mother's voice fading into a distant memory...

* * *

His eyelids fluttered, slowly cracking open, stunning blue eyes still veiled in the astonishment of lethargy sweeping over the faces surrounding him.

"What the hell...?" Daryl slurred, his voice a raspy whisper as he shifted slightly on the uncomfortable surface of the table.

The group hovering around him burst into laughter, relief clear on each and every one of their faces.

"Just lay still," Rick placed a hand against Daryl's chest, smiling broadly.

"How long 'ave I been out?" Daryl muttered, right hand instantly moving to rub at his throbbing temple.

"Two days," Rick replied, still smiling.

"We thought you were a goner, man!" Glenn piped up excitedly.

"That's funny," Daryl rasped, shifting his body again, trying to find a comfortable position on the hard table top. "So did I..."

"How're you feelin', son?" Hershel asked, pushing past Rick so he could give Daryl a thorough examination. "Do you feel sick? Dizzy?"

"Lil' bit o' both," Daryl admitted, draping his arm over his eyes to block out the harsh daylight assaulting his vision. "My head's killin' me..."

"Alright," Hershel smiled slightly, patting Daryl's shoulder gently in sympathy. "I'll see what we can do about that."

After what seemed like an eternity, the group slowly filtered out one by one. Hershel got up to go find something for Daryl's headache not long after the others had gone, Rick the only one left in the room.

Sighing, Daryl tried to relax.

"Can I get ya' anything?" Rick asked after a few moments of silence.

"You could help me off this damn table so I can find some place a little more comfortable," Daryl muttered irritably from under his arm, raising it just enough to sneak a quick peek at Rick's face.

The ex-lawman was still smiling like an idiot.

"What the hell you smilin' at, Grimes?" Daryl snarled, frustrated.

"Nothin'," Rick chuckled. "Jus' glad t' have ya' back, that's all. We were worried."

Daryl hummed in response.

"Try these, son."

Hershel's voice startled him slightly. He hadn't even realized he was drifting back to sleep.

"Thanks," Daryl mumbled, taking the pills and the glass of water Hershel offered him.

"Well, would ya' like t' move to one of the bunks? It's your call. I'm sure your back's probably killin' you." Hershel smiled faintly at the indignant look on Daryl's face.

 _"Probably?"_ Daryl echoed, huffing out a soft breath.

"C'mon. I'll help ya'," Rick motioned, holding out a steadying arm as Daryl swung his legs off the table and tried to stand on his own, swaying slightly before realizing he would have to except the help offered, grabbing at Rick quickly as his legs began trembling like a newborn colts.

Once he was situated in the nearest unoccupied cell, sprawled on the bunk and sighing at how much more comfortable it was than the table, Daryl nodded his thanks to Rick, settling down to go to sleep.

It seemed funny, going back to sleep after two days of being unconscious, but in all honesty, he was dead tired.

"Get some rest," Rick said softly as he made his way out of the cell. "Somebody'll be back in a while t' check on you. Yell if you need anything."

"Thanks man," Daryl murmured, already beginning to drift.

The pills had already started to take the edge off his headache, and before he knew it, Daryl was fast asleep. Peaceful, dreamless sleep. The nightmares from his comatose sleep completely forgotten.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanna thank all the lovely readers who have taken the time to leave comments and/or kudos on this! It means the world to me!! Thank you again!! Love y'all :)

When Daryl awoke for the second time that day, he wanted to know what had happened. Why did his head hurt so badly? Why did his back and ribs feel like he'd been kicked by a mule? Why had he been _unconscious_ for two whole days? He couldn't remember anything really. Just leaving for a supply run and waking up on a table with everyone staring at him expectantly.

Daryl wanted to know right away, but he figured it was better to ask someone who was there. So he waited until Rick came to look in on him, questioning the other man almost before he knew what had hit him.

"There was an explosion," Rick explained, taking a seat on the stool Carol had brought in. "Somebody had rigged the place. There were tripwires everywhere. We're not really sure who set it off though..."

A guilty look crossed Rick's face and Daryl knew right away that he was blaming himself for the accident, whether it was his fault or not, Rick felt responsible.

"Hey, it wasn't anybodys fault, Rick," Daryl spoke up, giving the other man a stern look. "Don't you go blamin' yourself for some other shithead playin' dirty."

Rick smiled slightly, nodding.

"So how'd I end up like this?" Daryl motioned to the bandage wrapped around his head.

"The blast was pretty big. Threw you back a good five feet! You went flyin' through the air like you were Peter Pan!" Rick chuckled, trying to make the situation a bit lighter.

"Great," Daryl muttered good-naturedly. "Didn't even get no hot-ass fairy out of it."

"Nope," Rick snickered. "Anyway, you hit your head on a rock. You've got a concussion and three cracked ribs. You gave us quite a scare."

"That's funny," Daryl murmured after a few beats of silence, his gaze wandering up to the cell window. "I can't remember much of that, but I can remember dreamin' almost like it was real..."

"What kind of dreams?" Rick asked quietly, watching the hunter carefully.

"Mostly bad ones," Daryl admitted, sighing. "You were there. Some of the others..."

He trailed off, unwilling to reveal the fact that it had been mostly all the ghosts of people they had lost. Even ones he hadn't really liked. The one who had gotten to him most though was his mother. He hadn't really thought of her much until Carl had been forced to put Lori down. That had brought up some old memories. He had thought at the time that it was a nice way to take the kid's mind off the fact that he had had to shoot his own mother in the head, maybe help to have someone he could somewhat relate to, even though the circumstances were completely different in Daryl's case.

Rick kept silent, didn't ask questions. Just sat there and waited for Daryl to either continue or change the subject.

"What happened t' my bow?" Daryl asked out of the blue, glancing around the cell for his weapon. "Don't tell me you idiots left it behind!"

"Carl's got it," Rick reassured him with a chuckle. "He's cleaned it so many times over, I'm surprised it ain't shinin' by now."

"Good," Daryl murmured, yawning.

"Well, I think it's high time you get some more rest. You look like you're about three sheets in the wind."

Daryl nodded, sighing as he began to relax. "Think maybe you're right..."

As he settled back down, Daryl's thoughts wandered to the dreams he had had while unconscious. He wondered momentarily if the people who had visited his dreams were watching over all of them, somehow protecting them if at all possible. He had overheard Beth say something about believing the people they had lost were in heaven, and that they were watching over all of them. There had been a time that he would have laughed at her, but something, he wasn't sure what, told him that Beth just might be right.

Smiling to himself, Daryl closed his eyes, glad to be back in the land of the living, and also glad for that comforting thought that, even if he didn't exactly remember everyone, even if he lost the ability to picture their faces, they were still somewhere out there, watching over him from afar.

It made him feel special. It made him feel loved.

"Thanks..." he murmured to no one in particular as he drifted off to sleep. Tomorrow was a new day, and he was thankful that he would be there to see it.


End file.
